


The Undercover Duchess

by convallaria_majalis



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Slavery, Slavery, dramatic rescue pacifist-style, not-entirely-resolved angst, protective Satine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 15:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13661841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convallaria_majalis/pseuds/convallaria_majalis
Summary: Satine runs into Obi-Wan on a day off... but she really wishes it wasn't likethis.(At least she gets to be the knight in shining armor for a change.)





	The Undercover Duchess

Satine stirred her caf and watched the crowd flow by. 

These rare days off were something she valued beyond words: picking from an array of disguises, hiding behind a cloak or armor or a breathing mask, and spending a day in the city among ordinary folk. Sure, she could live her life shuttling between palace, parliament, and public speech—but not only was that no way to live, it was no way to rule. You had to get on the ground, see what people were actually doing day to day. 

Sometimes, this felt like the truth. Other times it felt more like a grandiose justification for Satine's desire to people-watch.

In any case, here she was—in the capital city of Svoja (a lovely if unsophisticated planet), outside a little cafe with a perfect view of the bustling main streets. Her full-armor disguise meant she had to drink her caf through a straw, but no matter. She had already seen five pet dogs and four babies, plus a woman running to catch the shuttle with a huge bouquet of flowers in her arms.

But now she found her view was blocked by two women strolling by at an impossibly slow pace, wearing hats and dresses that were at least twice as voluminous as any Satine had ever seen. Arm in arm, they chatted as they walked. _Move along!_ Satine thought, as if the physical force of her annoyance could push them forward. 

And now the women were stopped in front of her. Well, that was rude, couldn't they see she was people-watching? It was worse than the Grand Republic Museum.

"Did you see the Jedi?" said one of the women, and Satine pricked her ears up. It was silly, but she couldn't help it. 

"Oh, yes. Absolutely lovely. But you weren't thinking about him, were you?"

"Well... I just can't resist a face like that."

Her companion tsked. "Lacey. You know they're too difficult for first-time owners. You've got to start off easy."

_Owners._

Satine left a handful of credits for her drink and disappeared into the crowd. 

—

It didn't take long to find what she was looking for. In a quiet, backwater area of the city, in an open square, a large podium had been set up. People thronged and milled around it, listening to the amplified voice of an announcer and watching eagerly for what (or more correctly, _who_ ) was displayed on the stage. 

It was like most slave markets Satine had seen, all discovered the same way she had found this one. It happened often enough that Satine's yearly budget contained a line item for the support of the Mandalorian Sentient-Trafficking Response Team: lawyers, medics, social workers, all wishing desperately for the day when their help would no longer be needed. 

Satine pressed her way into the center of the crowd, ears alert, eyes trained on the podium. 

"They're showing the Jedi next!" someone close by her whispered. She elbowed and jostled her way closer. 

It was even worse than she'd feared. The next person to be dragged up the stairs, dressed like a whore and weighed down by chains, was someone she knew all too well. 

"Obi," she gasped. 

There was no mistaking him. His head of sandy-red hair, his slight, strong figure, the easy grace when he moved—even hampered, now, by cuffs and a heavy collar. 

The handler, a cruel-looking Arkanian woman, gripped Obi-Wan's chain lead and yanked him to the center of the podium. He stood tall, though with none of the confidence and presence that Satine knew. It looked as if his mind was anywhere but here. 

"Don't we have a treat for you today!" boomed the announcer. "A real Jedi—and isn't he a beauty. Show him off for us, Sal."

The handler turned Obi-Wan roughly, letting everyone in the crowd get a good look. Satine, unable to look away, saw everything—the way he submitted, unresisting, to the manhandling, his grimace when the handler forced his head back to show off his neck. 

They had dressed him in some horrid outfit—well, if you could even call it that. Gold jewelry looped over his bare chest and shoulders (the strands appeared to have _bells_ on them), and a dark red cloth was wrapped and belted around his waist. That was it. Obi-Wan, who Satine was positive hadn't shown so much as an ankle in public in twenty years.

The announcer's voice crackled through the mic again. 

"Need a bit of eye candy around the house? Nights getting long and cold this time of year?" On the podium, Obi-Wan shifted from foot to foot, restless. The announcer zoned in on someone Satine couldn't see. "Ma'am, with the lovely pink parasol. What do you think? Fit for a queen, isn't he?"

People giggled and whispered around her, but Satine only stared. Obi-Wan took a step back from the handler, then another and another, until he ran out of chain. His eyes went wild and he pulled back hard, hands clawing at the collar. 

The handler—she must have been very strong to hold him—simply waited, grinning. Then she barked a single word at Obi-Wan, something Satine couldn't make out, and yanked him forward. 

All the fight went out of Obi-Wan in an instant. He dropped to his knees next to the Arkanian, his eyes fixed on the floor, and she laughed and stroked his hair. 

"Sure, he can be spirited," explained the announcer. "Jedi always are. But just say the word and he'll be as good as you please."

Satine watched as Obi-Wan was brought back down the stairs, replaced by the next unfortunate person to take the stage. She felt cold all over. 

_Don't just stand there,_ she told herself sternly. _Do something._

Satine felt a personal responsibility to lend her strength to wiping out slavery in the Galaxy—Mandalore having held many an auction in its checkered past—but this was doubly personal. She calculated. Five days before her team could get in here and blow the whole thing to hell (well, figuratively.) And by then Obi-Wan could be gods-knew-where. No, as painful as this was going to be, leaving him here would be far worse.

Satine checked her helmet, checked her voice changer, and headed around back of the podium.

What she saw made her heart hurt, though she had seen it many times before. People of every species and gender, sitting in the dirt or staring into space, reduced to objects via others’ malice and greed. 

The worst part, the part that kept her up at night? This market was just one of millions. 

She wandered the rows of slaves until she found Obi-Wan. Like the others, he was chained to a stake hammered deep in the packed earth. As she approached, he looked neither at her nor away, but remained absolutely still, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance.

Satine looked him over. The outfit was even worse up close: the gold jewelry turning green, the skirt barely clinging to his hips. He was barefoot, which made Satine's own feet hurt in sympathy for someone so used to GAR-issue boots.

_Oh, Obi. What did they do to you?_

Footsteps behind her, and then a voice like a hoarse meatgrinder. 

"Interested in our little Jedi, are you?"

Satine took a sharp breath. Time to put on her best show.

She gave a careless shrug. "I like his looks."

The man stepped into her field of vision. He was near-human, of a culture Satine didn't immediately recognize, and built like a Republic supertank. A nasty-looking whip and stun gun hung at his belt, and he looked at Satine with a familiarity that she found unbelievably abhorrent. 

"He's much more than looks, little lady. Go on, you can touch."

Satine stepped closer. She gripped Obi-Wan's shoulders and turned him this way and that, cataloguing. Underfed, though not critically. Bruises and scrapes from the chains. The fading yellow freckles of a recent black eye.

"Best muscles this side of a Tatooine sand wrestler," said the slaver. His fingers moved to the cloth around Obi-Wan’s waist, and Satine saw Obi-Wan’s jaw tighten. "And of course you’ll want to see—"

"I'll take him," Satine said quietly. 

"Ah, the lady knows what she likes! Very good, very good, I just need to run through a few things, let me see. Any previous experience with Jedi?"

"Yes."

"Good—so you know not to remove that collar there, whatever you do. That's to keep their fancy Force powers under wraps, and if you take that thing off, let me tell you, an escaped slave is going to be the least of your problems." He gave a grating belly laugh. 

"I know," Satine growled. "I'm not an idiot."

"Oh, by no means, by no means. Now, what else? Aha, I'll tell you something—" he clapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder "—when it comes to discipline, this fella here was a tough nut to crack. Don't try to whip him—wear your arm right out. Bantha prod? Might as well be a bug bite." He leaned in conspiratorially. "No, here's what you do. He gives you trouble? Punish somebody else. The weaker, the better. He's just a big softie, see? You start beating on an old lady, he'll do anything you say. And I mean _anything."_ He winked.

"Thanks for the heads-up," Satine said through her teeth. 

She was starting to rethink her position that no one deserved a violent death.

"Well, that's about it, ma'am—just need to settle on a price." The slaver pulled a greasy logbook from his pocket. "Now, I'll tell you right now I can let you have him for three hundred stovis, but you look like you drive a hard bargain. Let me talk to my manager and see if—"

Satine shoved her wallet into his hands. "Take your money," she said curtly. "I didn't come here to haggle."

The man's eyebrows shot up, but he quickly counted and pocketed the cash. "Excellent, then he's all yours! Pleasure doing business, ma'am." He dropped the leash in Satine's hand, and although it was like holding hot iron, she took it.

"Come on," she growled, and yanked as gently as she dared.

Satine threaded her way through the busy streets, Obi-Wan stumbling along behind. Already the throng of people was becoming thicker as people gathered and gawked at the stranger who would dare to buy a Jedi. 

Finally they reached her ship. "Piss off!" Satine barked, but the hangers-on didn't budge. Some of them were taking pictures. 

"We've got to get out of here," she muttered, hurrying Obi-Wan inside and sealing the hatch. "Get ready. I'm not losing any time."

She turned to the controls, bracing herself against the chair as the ship hummed to life. A steep ascent, a few stomach-turning loops, and they were safe in orbit, calculating the jump back to Mandalore. 

_Massive slave market in Svoja capital,_ Satine tapped out on her datapad. _Send in bust team. Also notify Jedi council that I found their wayward Master Kenobi._

 _Will do,_ Amalfi replied. Satine's personal assistant—a young Zeltron woman, sharp as a dagger. _I hope those two things aren't related._

_Unfortunately so._

_Oh dear. Take care._

_I will._

That ought to shake up the old clique, Satine thought wryly. It was just like the Council to keep news of a missing Jedi under wraps—which would explain why she'd gotten Obi-Wan's "extended mission" away message for months. But Jedi neglect was nothing new, and a hot spark of anger flared in her at how familiar this pattern felt. She had half a mind to march into the Temple and—

Very deliberately, Satine slid the datapad back into its holder and looked around. Where had Obi-Wan gone? It was a very small ship, just a daytripper. He was nowhere to be found in the cockpit, so she headed aft. The galley was empty, and the cargo bay locked, so that left—

She slid open the door to the bunkroom. Obi-Wan knelt in the center of the cramped space—head bowed, hands in his lap.

Waiting for his new mistress. Satine felt sick. 

Moving slowly, she took off her helmet and sat in front of him. "Obi," she said quietly. "Obi, it's me."

He looked up, slowly, and the unchecked fear in that first glance went through Satine like a knife. Worried or surprised, yes, but she'd never seen him scared. 

"Satine?" he whispered. 

She nodded, biting the inside of her lip. Cautiously, she reached up and touched Obi-Wan's cheek. 

He flinched away at first, but then steadied. His mouth twisted in a half-smile. "You are the last person I wanted to see me like this."

Satine shook her head. "What I see is a dear friend who probably needs a little care right now." She stroked his cheek. "Obi... Let me help you."

Obi-Wan simply nodded.

From her pocket Satine pulled a small but powerful pair of metal-cutters. She took Obi-Wan's hands in hers. 

"I'm sending my team in to break up the market," Satine said, as she carefully cut away the locks on the cuffs. "I wish I hadn't had to get you out _that_ way, but it'll take time for them to arrive, and I couldn't leave you for another second."

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said softly. “I—am glad you showed up when you did.”

“So am I.”

When the cuffs were gone, removed by Satine’s careful fingers, she went for the collar.

"Wait," Obi-Wan said. He put his hand over Satine's. "Let me do it."

"Of course."

Obi-Wan positioned the jaws around the collar's padlock and cut through with a snap. Then, looking as if he was bracing for pain, he removed it.

"Fuck," he muttered, eyes screwed shut. Then he fell forward into Satine's arms, grabbing on as if he might never let go.

Satine, not knowing what to do, simply held still. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Obi-Wan nodded against her shoulder and held on tighter.

Finally he took a deep, shivering breath, and let go.

"Obi?"

"Yes."

"What was that?"

"You know how it feels when your foot falls asleep?"

Satine nodded.

"Restoring severed Force access is a bit like that, but for the entire body." He ran a hand through his hair. "Not my favorite feeling, honestly."

Tears pricked at Satine's eyes. The Force was Obi-Wan's guiding light. How hard it must have been for him to be cut off, to endure without it.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked quickly. Past pain was not as important as present relief. "Food or water? I'm afraid we only have a sonic on board, and most of the clothes only fit me, but—"

"Clothing," he said decisively. "I'm decently clean, and dinner can wait, but if I have to spend another moment in this getup..."

"Understood."

Rifling through the bunkroom's meager storage, Satine pulled out a few decent options. She was nearly as tall as Obi-Wan, so if she could only find things that were loose enough...

Jingling sounded behind her as Obi-Wan divested himself of the strands of bell-decked jewelry. "Incredibly tacky," he muttered. 

"Oh, I don't believe this," Satine exclaimed, pulling yards of brown wool out of a locker. "This is one of _your_ cloaks."

"Nonsense." Obi-Wan drew closer and felt the material. Then he broke into a broad smile. "Oh, yes, it's mine all right." He threw it over his shoulders and drew the fabric up to his chin.

Satine stared. "But you've never been on this ship. How—"

"Shh. No questions." Obi-Wan sat down on the bed, eyes closed, looking for all the world like a cat in the sun. 

Something grabbed Satine's heart and squeezed hard. 

"All right," she said, smiling even though she felt like falling apart. "There's some clothes to choose from on the bed here. Snacks in the galley, and if you need anything else, just come find me."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I will."

—

Interstellar travel: boring as anything, but the perfect time to catch up on sleep, paperwork, or hobbies. Sleep was out, and Satine found that paperwork was currently sliding around her mind like soap around a drain, so she turned on a bright lamp and pulled out her embroidery. Mindless work at this point, just filling in the letters and the design, but something to focus on. 

Satine pushed the needle through the cloth. She pulled the thread tight, but not too tight, and watched it settle into its place in the design. She set up the next stitch and began again. 

Damn Jedi Council. Damn slave traders. Damn war. 

Not paying attention, she pulled too hard, and the thread snapped. "Oh, _osik,"_ she muttered. 

The door to the cockpit slid open, and Obi-Wan stepped through. He came up to look over Satine's shoulder. 

"Hello. Looks lovely."

"Hi," she replied. "Thanks, it's for Padmé. It's giving me a bit of trouble at the moment."

"I meant you."

"Hah." Satine fixed the snapped thread. "Don't toy with me, darling."

Obi-Wan put on an affronted look. "I assure you, I wouldn't dream of it."

Satine tsked and shoved the needle through the embroidery cloth. They were both _acting_ fine, playing out a conversation as if they had just run into each other at a Senate function, but at least one of them was surely not. 

Obi-Wan stepped closer, watching her hands move. 

"You're embroidering rather violently," he remarked. 

Satine stabbed the cloth again. "I suppose I am."

"You're worried about me." Obi-Wan folded his hands behind his back. "You don't have to be. I'll be fine."

"Worrying about you is one of the only totally frivolous activities I allow myself. Let me have it."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Very well."

Satine looked him over. Under the cloak he was now wearing her old flight suit—and seeing him in her clothes put a funny feeling in her stomach, one she wasn't prepared for. She glanced at the floor. 

"I see you found my bunny slippers," she commented.

"Mm. They're cozy." He sat down in the co-pilot's chair, pulling the cloak close around him again. "I don't suppose you usually frequent slave markets on your days off?"

"Hardly." Satine gave a short laugh. "But if I happen to hear about one, I'm certainly not going to ignore it."

"No," Obi-Wan agreed. "That wouldn't be the Duchess I know."

"And what were you doing there, if I may ask?"

"Other than being sold to the highest bidder?"

Satine winced. "Not what I meant. Sorry."

"You want to know how I was captured." He sighed. "To be frank, I'm not sure I know. It was an ordinary night out, and the next thing I knew..."

"It's all right," Satine said quickly. "You don't have to tell me."

"Perhaps later." Obi-Wan folded his arms into the cloak’s wide sleeves. "If you’ll excuse the lack of conversation, I think I’d like to meditate for a while."

Satine nodded. “Of course.”

They looked out the viewport in silence, watching the stars stream past.

**Author's Note:**

> Should the visual of chained-up, collared Obi-Wan interest you, you can find that [here](https://kinky-space-nerd.tumblr.com/post/170821989458/art-and-a-fic-yall-the-undercover-duchess) :]


End file.
